Grim Circuit
by Written-Member
Summary: Four strangers band together, forming a strong alliance together hoping to escape the city. Can they outlast the living dead?


Author's notes: This fancfic is following suit of the actual game Left 4 Dead, which means that the weapons will come with an insane supply of ammunition, the characters will all have an unrealistic amount of health, and there will be safe rooms and weapons scattered about along with things such as pipe bombs and health packs.

I have come up with a list of celebrities who fit the descriptions of the characters, just in case your minds need a little help imagining what they would look like.

Jamal: Charlie Murphy

Reina: Rosario Dawson

*Scott: Robert Downey Jr.

*Justin: David Archuleta

*Do not enter until the second chapter.

* * *

The once beautiful, vibrant, and busy city of Manhattan was now a trashed, pale, and deserted. Every building whether it be an apartment or a business was in ruin with blood smeared on the outside walls and windows smashed to the top levels. There was not one car parked on the street that did not have a flat tire, dents and holes all over the body, or a cracked windshield. The ground was covered with debris, garbage, and the bodies of those who were fortunate enough to die and not return as a "living dead" being.

Jamal James, a thirty-one year old African-American male walked along the dark, puddle laden alleyways with his aching back firmly pressed against the outer walls of the buildings. It was a quiet night, which made the sounds of his footsteps against the pavement seem that much louder. He was afraid that anything more than even an old newspaper page being crumpled up underneath his shoes would be enough to alert a hoard of the most terrifying, most savage and blood-thirsty creatures known to mankind. The interesting thing was that these creatures were once his neighbors, his companions, and even his family. Yes, his wife and parents had fallen victim to the infection, leaving Jamal to either allow them to eat him up, or kill their bodies. By the way their pale, talon-like fingers clawed at him and their crooked, blood-stained teeth lashed out for his flesh, Jamal knew that nothing about their real selves was left. No, their bodies were only reacting as a result of the infection and nothing more. Three bullets later, their bodies fell still one last time.

He came out onto an open street and looked around. Several of the street lights had been broken or completely blown out, but there was still enough light to see. Jamal speedily stepped onto the street with his hands tightly gripping two small pistols, his index fingers ready to pull on the triggers just in case he was met by a zombie. But there was nothing and there was no one. Jamal was beginning to wonder if he really was the last fully living person in Manhattan. He had been too busy fighting for his life to seek evacuation until it was too late. Judging by the number of dead bodies he had seen in the last twenty-four hours, Jamal assumed that not many had been able to evacuate anyway. Still, he would have liked to have been taken someplace safe. At least then he wouldn't be wandering around alone on messy streets with a pistol in each hand.

Everything was quiet. All that Jamal could hear was his own breath, his shoes on the pavement, and a light breeze making its way between apartment buildings. He knew that it was unsafe to be out in the open, so he quickly started to look for a place to hide out, perhaps even until the sun came up . . . if it would be gracious enough to rise over such a foul place. Just when he was certain that he was in the clear for a while, Jamal heard a zombie-like shriek in the distance, and then another, and another, but then he heard a scream that sounded . . . human. Tightening his grip on the two pistols, Jamal ducked behind a nearby car and poked his head around the front bumper, looking around to see if anything was coming his way. There didn't appear to be any, but further down the street he could see some action happening in an apartment building. Figures passed by the windows on one of the middle floors, all going in one direction which could only mean that they were after something, or someone. Jamal's deep, brown eyes widened as he felt his heart begin to race with fear, adrenaline, and something like excitement. Was there somebody in that building?

* * *

She quickly grabbed onto a nearby computer desk and firmly pressed it against the trembling door. On the other side was a group of angry zombies, all frantic to get to their new-found prey and tear her to shreds. This prey, however, was smarter than they were and continued to barricade the door to the small home office room. Reina Dawson was her name, and she was a survivor. After fighting a couple of her own battles with the living dead, she had learned that they were too senseless to open doors as a normal person would. Instead, they would tear at it until it broke open, which Reina counted to her advantage. Now with almost every piece of furniture and every other item in the room against the one door, Reina made her way over to the window and pushed it open, letting the cool night air flow into the hot, stuffy, and smelly room.

Reina was only nineteen years old and was abandoned by her alcoholic father when the time came to be evacuated. She hated him, and was almost pleased with the fact that he hadn't made it out of the city, or even across the street for that matter. From the time her dad fled, Reina had remained in the apartment complex alone and afraid, but safe for a short while. There was no one else there – no infected zombies, and no one else to become infected. It wasn't until a short while ago that a group of zombies wandered into the building and found Reina.

Luckily for Reina, the window opened up to a case of fire stairs that went all the way down to the lower floors. Without hesitating, she climbed out onto it and ran down, listening to the heels of her stylish boots clack against the metal. She made it down quickly, lowered the attachment ladder, and carefully climbed the rest of the way down, but as soon as her feet came in contact with the ground, she heard a loud gunshot ring out into the otherwise quiet atmosphere. Her tan skin turned pale at once as she covered her head with her trembling hands and ducked. A small chunk of the building on her left side split into little pieces and flew off as the lone bullet took its toll. Reina let out a small yelp and cried, "Don't shoot! Don't shoot!"

"Are you infected?" a strong, masculine voice asked.  
"No I'm not!" Reina replied, keeping her head ducked down.  
"Have you been bitten?" the voice asked.  
"No, not yet." she replied.

After a brief pause, the strong voice spoke up once more. "Come with me." it said. Reina slowly looked up from the ground and caught the first glimpse of the figure in front of her. He was tall with dark skin, wearing a light brown jacket with a white undershirt and a black beanie on his head, and holding a small pistol in each hand. He put away one of the guns and then extended his empty hand to Reina, who was still trembling with fear. She didn't budge, despite his request, so he quickly reached out and took her by the arm, and with that started to run with her down the street, away from the infested building. Reina followed (not that she had a choice, considering that the man had a firm grip on her arm) hesitantly at first, but slowly began to feel a little more safe with him. He was a man, he had guns, and he was trying to survive the nightmare that was the infection outbreak – other than him shooting at her, what reason did she have to not feel safe with him?

Hearing the echoing screams of zombies in the distance, Jamal's dark eyes frantically scanned around the streets for a red door. A red door meant safety. Keeping his grip on the young girl strong, he ran faster as the adrenaline in his veins did the same. His heart was pounding and his mind was racing. Finally, after what seemed like hours of running (but only turned out to be a couple up minutes) his eyes landed on it – the safe room.

"This way!" Jamal exclaimed, changing his (and Reina's) course and ran quickly into the safe room. Once inside, he released his hold on Reina and secured the door shut. Quietness filled their ears. All that could be heard were the sounds of their own breaths.

Jamal stepped past Reina over to a counter where there was a small pile of red bags. He took one and handed it to Reina, who still looked as terrified as ever.

"Take this," he said.  
"W – what is this?" she asked quietly.  
"It's a first aid kit, really. If you want to get out of this city, you're going to need it."  
"Why would I want to get out of the city?"  
"Uhh . . . you don't want to be killed by the living dead, do you?" Jamal asked, rather sarcastically.  
"No . . ."  
"That's why."

Pursing her lips in an almost defiant manner, Reina took the bag and swung it over her narrow shoulders. She watched the man walk over to another counter where there was a pistol, and two submachine guns. The man took the guns, loaded them up with ammo, and then gave the pistol and one of the machine guns to her.

"Do you know how to use these?" he asked.  
"Umm, you just aim and pull the trigger, right?" she replied in a sheepish tone.  
"Fair enough."

Reina sighed and approached the man, looking into his eyes as if to study him. "Are you going to help me?" she asked.

"We're going to help each other." he replied firmly "Survivors are scarce, so we have to stick together or else there's absolutely no hope."

After a short pause, Reina finally spoke up again, "Who are you?"

"Name's Jamal James. Who are _you_?"  
"Reina. Reina Dawson."

The two shook hands, and immediately felt a strange sense of friendship building between them. Reina couldn't help but smile even though she tried to hide it. Jamal smiled to, happy to know that he was no longer alone in the dead city oh Manhattan.


End file.
